


A Moment Alone

by Sunnyrea



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: But also kind of serious, Established Relationship, Fluff, Historical, M/M, Valley Forge, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 14:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10721496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyrea/pseuds/Sunnyrea
Summary: Washington's aide-de-camps find a night of levity with a barrel of beer and two aide-de-camps manage to find some time alone.





	A Moment Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Those of you familiar with my work and/or returning to this one will notice it is not longer part of my series "The War." That series is a strange sort of work in progress, growing as I do as a writer, so I determined that this story was not longer fitting in the series arc (the characterization and quality and historical accuracy), so I have removed it. It does, however, still work as a fun stand alone so enjoy it that way!

John Laurens stands shivering in the cold outside General Washington’s staff headquarters of the Continental army’s winter camp of Valley Forge. He listens to the sounds of the soldiers in the camp from across the fields and hills. As opposed to some nights, the sounds are happier, jovial rather than the groans of hunger and pain. They recently received some much needed supplies and rations. The supplies themselves are still inadequate for the number of men in their army but that is part of his, and his fellow aide-de-camps’, jobs, make more happen with less.

“And more men will die each day,” Lauren mutters darkly to himself. “So fewer supplies will be needed.”

He wishes he did not think so, but months living in the cold have seeped deep into his bones and turned his thoughts blacker each day.

Now he watches for a rider expected with the daily dispatches from congress and the companies south. It is late, the sun set, and the rider is late, again.

“Laurens?”

Laurens turns to see Alexander Hamilton and Tench Tilghman walking out the front door of the house.

Tilghman frowns at him. “Why do you wait out in the cold?”

“You delude yourself in believing inside is much warmer,” Laurens counters.

Hamilton laughs once but Tilghman still looks at Laurens disapprovingly. “Enough of our forces are subjected to the freezing conditions in their cabins or worse.” He gestures toward the mass of the encampment now spread out over the hills. “You need not willingly put your health in jeopardy or need I repeat the number of losses of the past month?”

“Tench,” Hamilton chides. “Laurens has survived two bullet wounds thus far. I begin to believe him unkillable.”

Laurens smiles at Hamilton and nods. “My fierce southern upbringing.”

Hamilton and Tilghman both scoff at that.

Laurens only shakes his head then answers Tilghman’s first question. “I wait for the courier; he should not be long yet.”

“You hope,” Tilghman counters.

“I do.”

“Tilghman is not wrong, Laurens,” Hamilton now says seriously. “You do yourself no good waiting here. The courier will know which door to use and you will not see him sooner by waiting here.”

Laurens frowns as he stares at the road up toward Washington’s headquarters where he stands. In truth, he needed a moment to himself. The frozen air fogs his mind and allows him a moment to think of nothing, to worry on nothing, to fear nothing but the cold and snow and winter. It is an odd comfort in a time of war and the stress of such close quarters. Though he battles against it, there are times Laurens cannot stop his own dark moods and desires – always forward into the fray, no fear of death because death is a relief, no life worth returning to when all he can expect is not the life he would want. The chill is a relief with such pains in his soul and the cold air outside the perfect cure for these morose lines of thought.

“I see your point,” Laurens finally says aloud to Hamilton’s concern.

Tilghman claps Laurens on the shoulder then walks past him down the road. “Go inside then. I go to find his Excellency.”

Laurens looks at Hamilton with a frown. “Find him?” He had thought the General still inside. 

Hamilton shakes his head. “General Washington and Lafayette have been out several hours to bolster the men’s spirits.”

Laurens smiles in a fond way. “Of course.”

Hamilton smiles the same smile back. “Of course.”

“Now.” Hamilton claps his hands and gestures to the door. “Please, come inside.”

Laurens nods in concession. “Only because you asked so kindly.”

Hamilton laughs. “I had planned to drag you should that fail.”

“I assumed such.”

The two of them walk through the door and back into the house. Laurens stops to hang his hat on a peg by the door, shaking snow onto the floor. Hamilton chuckles at him but says nothing, letting his bare hand brush against Laurens’ for a moment as he helps Laurens with his overcoat, hanging it up beside another already in place. Laurens glances at Washington's office, dark and quiet. However, in the aide-de-camp office straight across from them where usually the room is quiet but for the scratch of quills, tonight Laurens hears the sound of laughter and conversation. Laughter seems almost a foreign sound to his ears of late.

Within the room, a number of the aide-de-camps sit around the largest table with mugs in hand, all the usual correspondence and work sequestered to a far table by the wall. A large fire burns in the hearth making the room genuinely warm, almost bowling Laurens over in surprise.

“Laurens!”

Laurens looks around for whomever called his name. 

“Laurens!” It is Richard Kidder Meade. “Laurens, tell us about the Battle of Brandywine!” And he is drunk.

Laurens spies the large barrel of beer nearer the fire against the wall.

“Perhaps not a story for merry company,” Laurens says shooting Hamilton a look.

Hamilton smiles back at Laurens. “Because of your reckless running into fire and yet somehow remaining unshot?”

Laurens purses his lips at Hamilton because Hamilton knows well Laurens’ bold behavior during battle. “I thought it best to head straight in and keep tally of the British I felled.”

“A high count to be sure.”

“Yet Lafayette scorned me after so.”

“What did Lafayette say?” John Fitzgerald asks.

“No doubt something French,” Meade jokes. “Et tu, Laurens?”

Fitzgerald snorts in amusement so violently he splashes beer over the front of his uniform. Meade and Robert Harrison both laugh at his blunder, Harrison passing Fitzgerald a napkin.

Hamilton scoffs then reaches up and shakes Laurens’ shoulder. “Lafayette said, as I recall, ‘It was not his fault that he was not killed or wounded, he did everything that was necessary to procure one or the other.’”

The near half dozen aide-de-camps in the room all laugh at once.

“Alas, here I stand,” Laurens says with a slight bow.

Hamilton chuckles. “And fortunate for us all.”

“Hamilton,” Meade holds up a mug. “Sit.” He gestures to Laurens as well. “Both of you. We are like not to see another barrel of beer again in many weeks.”

“Then perhaps you would best not waste it all now,” Laurens chides.

Everyone in the room groans.

Hamilton gives Laurens a look. “If the General can ride out to raise the spirits of the men, we would do well in his stead to raise our spirits here.”

Laurens raises his eyebrows at Hamilton, “through use of spirits?”

“Ah ha!” cries Meade.

“Ever the comedian,” Fitzgerald says, his head falling against the back of his chair.

“More for the arguments than the humor, I’d wager.”

Hamilton and Laurens turn to find Tilghman behind them, the sound of the front door closing.

“Tilghman!” Fitzgerald and Meade crow together.

“Sit down man and bring these two with you!” Harrison says.

“Back already?” Hamilton asks.

“I found his Excellency on his way returning here barely half a mile out.”

“Should we be feigning sobriety?” Meade asks.

Tilghman shakes his head. “He chose the back entrance and has already ascended above stairs to Mrs. Washington. We have leave to be merry.”

“Very merry!” Lafayette appears beside Tilghman.

Everyone in the room cheers, clacking glasses together and pouring more beer into mugs waiting for the new additions to the gathering. 

Laurens glances at Hamilton beside him in question. Hamilton smiles back at him then raises both eyebrows in good humor, clearly wishing to stay. Laurens nods, “As you wish.”

“The former aide visits his lost fellows!” Fitzgerald says as Lafayette sits down near the fire.

“Yes, yes, Lafayette,” Meade says finding a mug for the Frenchman. “Do you miss us in your own headquarters so far on the other side of camp? We miss you terribly, of course.”

Lafayette takes a sip of the beer and nods. “Every day, all day.”

“Or rarely,” Tilghman quips, knocking snow from his boots onto the floor.

“Really now,” Laurens chides. Tilghman just shoots him a look. “There is a front door which could have aided your boots readily enough.”

“I thank you for the advice, dear mother.”

Meade laughs again. Laurens sees Hamilton out of the corner of his eye shooting Tilghman an angry look. Hamilton and Laurens both lost their mothers at young ages, though Hamilton need not fear for Laurens’ sensibilities. Tilghman begins to open his mouth for some sort of apology but Laurens waves his hand in dismissal.

“Well then,” Harrison stands up near the fire. “If Laurens will not regale us with tales of his daring in battle and most of you will likely abhor hearing me sing, we must have some other conversation.”

“I elect Lafayette,” Hamilton says. “France should provide far better stories than our own.”

Lafayette stares at them all for a moment then sits up straight with a grin. “Comme vous le souhaitez, I shall provide.”

 

An hour later, the company has diminished in number. Meade led a party away some twenty minutes passed in search of any food not yet partitioned out for daily rations. Laurens know they will be sadly lacking in success but, then again, they likely know this already. Now only Laurens, Hamilton, Lafayette and Tilghman remain. Lafayette sits closest to the fire with his feet up on a stool. Tilghman dozes at the table, his mug apparently empty. Laurens and Hamilton sit side by side, across from Lafayette near the fire.

“His Excellency stretches himself too thin,” Lafayette says absently. “He attempts to divide every portion of his soul into the cause, the command, the men in the field, what has he left to live himself on?”

“Honor?” Hamilton says.

“A crisp uniform?” Laurens counters.

Hamilton chuckles into his mug, swaying slightly against Laurens.

Lafayette smiles at them. “Rein, Il ne restait rien.”

“Do not speak so,” Laurens says. “If you think his spirit should damped you merely need look around this house. Our jobs are not only in writing letters.” Laurens gestures toward Lafayette with his mug. “Look to yourself.”

Lafayette stares at him then nods. “Oui.”

Hamilton sways forward for a moment as if he may fall off his chair but Laurens grips his shoulder and Hamilton jerks back to attention.

“Oh,” Hamilton groans. “How many months has it been since we have had a proper amount of beer?”

Lafayette laughs. “You ask me to remember past the winter here and I forget there is such a thing as spring. So when last? When I was not yet born.”

Laurens takes a drink from his mug then points it at Lafayette. “Your philosophy is flawed.”

Lafayette waves his hands in the air in a manner which can only be described as ‘French.’ “I am drunk.”

Hamilton and Laurens laugh together.

Tilghman suddenly sits up straight and groans loudly at the table. “Oh no... this was unwise.”

Laurens bites his lip to keep from laughing again. “Tilghman?”

He shakes his head and stands up with a wobble. “Most assuredly unwise.” He holds a hand to his head. “I blame Kidder.”

Hamilton laughs again and suddenly downs what remains in his mug. “Very unwise but what can a man expect with this Frenchman’s influence?”

Lafayette snorts. “As though I began the gathering.”

“Like I said,” Tilghman says as he walks toward the door into the hall. “Kidder.” Tilghman sighs. "Far too merry."

Hamilton and Laurens look at each other for a moment. Hamilton glances down at Laurens’ cup. Laurens moves his hand out of the way just in time to avoid Hamilton’s grab for it. Hamilton glares at him but his attempt at reproach is unsuccessful as he continues to grin.

“You finished your mug. You need not finish mine.”

“If you have yet to then perhaps I should.”

“I may drink as I chose.” Laurens keeps his mug out of reach. “Whose fault lies in your empty glass?”

Hamilton pouts at him for a moment. “Mine.”

“Exactly.”

“But yours is not empty.”

“And it is mine!”

“But do you wish to drink the rest?” Hamilton shrugs. “It can become tiresome.”

Lafayette snorts loudly.

Laurens pulls the mug up to his mouth and takes a long drink. “It is fine yet to me.”

“Please?” Hamilton asks with a beautiful smile.

Laurens almost lets him have the mug then Hamilton starts to laugh and buries his face in the front of Laurens' uniform.

Lafayette shakes his head. “Des garçons idiots.”

Laurens glares at him. “Who is the boy?”

Lafayette only raises his eyebrows.

Suddenly, Hamilton pulls his head up again and grabs Laurens’ mug. He pulls it up to his face and takes a big gulp. Laurens gasps in consternation and surprise. Hamilton holds out the mug to him with a smug look. “Thank you, Laurens.”

“Cheek.”

Lafayette chuckles quietly then stands up from his seat. “If that means the end of the beer among us then I should begin my journey back to find sleep while I can.”

“You may yet find some beer on the floor if you wish it,” Laurens says with a halfhearted glare at Hamilton.

Hamilton smiles. “I did not spill any.”

Lafayette salutes in a lazy manner to Laurens. “Good night.”

Laurens watches Lafayette as he walks out, the edges of his vision less distinct now.

Laurens smiles. “Would that we had just a mug more.”

“But we do.” Laurens looks at Hamilton. Hamilton has reached over to the table and picked up Tilghman’s abandoned mug. He holds it out to Laurens. “Not as empty as it seemed.”

Hamilton is quite right; half of the mug is still full. ”How kind of Tench to leave us some.”

Hamilton swirls the liquid around and takes a sip. He gestures with the mug toward Laurens. “I left you some as well. I am not so ignoble as to leave you without.”

Laurens looks down into his mug, feeling himself sway just a little. There is indeed a few swallows remaining. “How kind.”

“It is entirely selfish,” Hamilton says. Laurens looks at him. “The more we have left to drink the longer we main remain here and the longer I shall have you to myself.”

Laurens smiles fondly and lays his free hand on Hamilton’s thigh. “You have me.”

Hamilton smiles, the edge of his mug resting at his chin. “Just you.”

The room is dark now, just the light from the low fire and the sun having long set. Laurens watches the shadows flicker across Hamilton’s face, the red in his hair bright in the glow. He wants to kiss him, hold him tight against his chest and whisper words like love. He feels the beer in his head, his mouth stuck in a smile and he leans against Hamilton, Hamilton leaning back.

“Would that we had an hour alone,” Laurens says.

“Or a day?’ Hamilton counters.

“A room to ourselves.”

“Like this one?” Hamilton says with a mischievous grin.

Laurens chuckles. “One more hospitable and comfortably furnished perhaps.”

“Well, when one must make do.”

Laurens huffs out a mock laugh. “Oh yes, a hard wood table but at least a fire for warmth. Who would ask for more?”

Hamilton shrugs and his forehead bumps Laurens cheek for a moment as he sways. Then he sits up again, still smiling. “Perhaps a pillow would improve it.”

Laurens chuckles. “My coat could service.”

“Ah!” Hamilton grins. “And we come to why you were made an aide-de-camp. Such solutions to intractable problems.”

Laurens chuckles. “And abilities to use supplies in a creative manner.”

“Quite so.” Hamilton takes another sip of Tilghman’s beer. He reaches up and touches Laurens’ cheek, slides his fingertips along Laurens’ jaw. “Would that this fire was our own and this room a place of private refuge.”

Laurens sighs and slides his hand down to Hamilton’s knee. “I would wish for little more.”

“I could give you words enough for how I would wish you, laid beneath me.” His hand drops to Laurens collar. “No wool to block your precious skin from my hands.”

Laurens breathes in deeply and nearly drops his mug. “Alexander...”

Hamilton smiles very slowly. “I would tangle your perfect hair, not so proper and well-kept in my grasp.”

Laurens breathes in and out and does not look away, watches Hamilton’s eyes as they slide down Laurens’ body then up again. Laurens wants to push Hamilton down onto the floor right here.

“I think I should like a lock on a door, none to share a bed or room with but you,” Hamilton whispers, “not for weary sleep but my hands wherever I choose, your lips, your chest, your thighs.” He grins with the implication of parts he need not say aloud.

Laurens blows out a breath and sees what Hamilton sees, warm sheets, hands sliding low and Hamilton above him. Hamilton suddenly drops his mug on the empty chair beside him and pulls Laurens’ face to him, kissing Laurens quickly. 

Laurens kisses back for a moment, tastes beer between them then he pulls back with a gasp. “Hamilton.”

“I know,” Hamilton replies quickly. He presses his forehead against Laurens’ making a disgruntled noise. “I know.”

“We cannot...” Laurens whispers low.

Hamilton runs his hand down Laurens’ neck briefly with a sigh. Laurens breathes in deeply, savors every touch of Hamilton’s hand. Then Hamilton pulls back again. “I know.”

Laurens opens eyes he did not realize he had closed and looks at Hamilton next to him. “You are beautiful,” Laurens whispers as he brushes a hand down Hamilton’s chest over lapels and buttons. “My beautiful boy.”

Hamilton smiles at him and touches Laurens’ hand on his chest. He looks like he wants to say something, more of his fine words, more dreams of privacy and a place for them alone. Then he squeezes Laurens’ hand and he pulls it down from his chest to hold in his lap instead. For a moment, he simply plays with Laurens’ fingers, sliding them against his own.

He whispers so even Laurens can barely hear, “my John.”

They should be wary of where they are; downstairs in the aide’s shared office, a place so public but they are always wary, they are always safe. Laurens decides just this once to skip being careful, leans in and kisses Hamilton’s forehead just at his hairline. He kisses Hamilton’s forehead again, under his eye, the bridge of his nose, his bright lips once more as Hamilton’s eyes slip closed, a small sigh escaping. 

“We should sleep,” Laurens says as he pulls back, squeezing their hands.

Hamilton opens his eyes. “Sleep?”

Laurens gives him a look but he is smiling. “Our choices are limited.”

“Alas.”

Laurens laughs once. “But we did gain this.”

Hamilton frowns. “Another mug of beer?”

“A moment alone.”

Hamilton sighs with a peaceful smile. “Yes.”

Laurens squeezes their hands again then stands up. “Come Hamilton. I shall see you to bed.”

Hamilton stands up with him, only a sight wobble to his rise. He makes a rueful face but does not add any playful remark.

“As you wish,” Hamilton says. 

As they walk toward the doorway and their chaste room for the night, Hamilton does not let go of Laurens’ hand and Laurens holds fast as long as he can.

**Author's Note:**

> The quote from Lafayette about Laurens and his behavior in battle is not mine but real: http://www.revolutionary-war.net/john-laurens.html


End file.
